


touch my neck, I’ll touch yours, you in those high waisted shorts

by loveismyundoing



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, rambling thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 13:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveismyundoing/pseuds/loveismyundoing
Summary: Peter likes learning new things about Lara Jean. He especially likes when he discovers stuff that is just for him.





	touch my neck, I’ll touch yours, you in those high waisted shorts

It gave Peter a tiny thrill to learn new stuff about Lara Jean. The small details, discovering what she liked or learning her little habits made his heart expand and flip-flop and soar as if it was being filled with helium. Each day he'd notice something different or new that he'd carefully tuck away, and keep safe, locked in a part of his brain that was just for Lara Jean. And the truth was the Lara Jean part of his brain was filling rapidly, bulging at the seams and threatening to explode. Because Peter noticed every single thing about her.

Stuff that her sisters, or Doctor Covey, Josh, or even Chris might have already known fascinated Peter. They'd known Lara Jean for longer than he had. Or they'd known her better anyway. And honestly, he didn't mind sharing her with all the people who loved her (maybe not Josh so much when he thought about it) because he wanted her life to be whole and happy. But now, now that Lara Jean belonged to Peter (no, not in like, a possessive cave man way, just that they were together) he got to see her too.

He got to see her for real.

Like, not long after they'd first started dating, like actually dating for real, he had been freaking out about this chemistry mid term. Raising his crappy D grade to a B had become a real life probability thanks to his smarty pants girlfriend. It definitely helped that Lara Jean let him lay his head in her lap while she would quiz him on the periodic table. He'd learn all of the elements, their compounds, their weights, rocket science, complex numbers, time-space theory, anything, everything - if he got to do it while laying his head in Lara Jean's lap. She quizzed him, ran her fingers through his hair and stroked his forehead. The fact that she could do all three things simultaneously, well that made Peter's heart beat an irregular rhythm.

And his Mom was so pleased with his academic progress she said if he got his B she'd push back his curfew to 3. (Peter realised it was a token reward because; one, Lara Jean had to be home way earlier and when Lara Jean wasn't there, colours didn't seem so bright and the music was too loud so parties seemed pointless. And two, his Mom had never actually set him an official curfew. So, although it didn't matter in the scheme of things, Peter liked to make his Mom super proud.)

And so the night before the test when Facetiming Lara Jean in his panicked state, she'd calmed him down and casually suggested he come over for one last minute study session. So he did.

Dr Covey had important hospital papers spread all over the kitchen table and Ms. Rothschild and Kitty had been attempting to teach Jamie Fox-Pickle to bark on command so Peter had been directed to Lara Jean's bedroom.

("Door open!" Doctor Covey reminded him. Lara Jean's Dad was unrelenting in his new strict 'door open' policy status since their viral video. Which Peter understood but also, how silly were parents? Because his Audi might've only been a two seater and Peter was kind of tall but his drivers seat - it slid way back. And Lara Jean was pocket sized and fit perfectly in his lap. Damn if he didn't love the way the street light shadows danced on her skin while his mouth traced her collarbone and her back arched against the steering wheel

Taking the stairs two at a time Peter was amused to see Lara Jean sitting on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by what seemed to be all of her earthly possessions.

Ignoring how Lara Jean she looked in her Victorian nightgown, pushing aside thoughts about her enticing kitten themed cotton socks, Peter smiled, amused, while he surveyed the disaster.

"Damn Covey, were you robbed?"

It was hard to reconcile his organised, precise Lara Jean with the whirlwind of belongings on the floor.

His Lara Jean wrote her lesson notes in block letters. They were annotated, highlighted and underlined. When she baked she carefully measured out the ingredients, wore an apron and cleaned as she went. She photcopied the recipes, paper clipped them to the originals and left instructive comments on them - too chewy, double the weight of chocolate chips, slightly increase oven temperature. And Lara Jean was never late.

But here in her room there were piles of novels with covers featuring half naked men carressing women in flamenco dresses, piles of clothes and shoes, fluffy cushions, knitting needles and balls of wool strewn all over. She had cookie cutters and silicone baking mats next to school books and paint swatches. And she just had so many scrapbooks, keepsakes, photos in frames, the reindeer she bought from the estate sale. So much stuff.

Lara Jean had looked at him sheepishly. "I'm kind of messy," she confessed.

He nodded but stayed silent, sliding down onto the floor next to her.

When Lara Jean talked, Peter listened. Because despite her nosiness and questions, Lara Jean was private about herself. Private about her own feelings. Any admisision from Lara Jean made her vulnerable and Peter recognised how risky that was for his girlfriend. Especially since the hot tub scandal. Her feelings of vulnerability had been escalated, heightened.

Kitty skated past Lara Jean's room with Jamie-Fox Pickle bundled up in her arms. "Didn't you know, Peter Kavinsky? Lara Jean is a pig!" She snorted noisily all the way down the hall until they heard her door slam.

Lara Jean sighed.

"Everything here," she tilted her head, indicating her belongings, "Everything here means something to me."

"You don't want to forget, right. You don't want to lose anything else." Peter closed his eyes. He knew Lara Jean's hoarding tendencies would have underlying complexities. "I have this ball cap that I keep at the top of my closet. From 5th grade when my Dad took Owen and me to a ball game. Got hotdogs and popcorn, sodas. Owen threw up on the way home, right next to the freeway. But Dad didn't get mad. It was the best day but he left for good, like maybe a month after. Sometime I wonder if it even happened and I look at that cap and remember it was real."

Things helped you remember who you were. Reminded you of what you had, even if it was gone now. Lara Jean wrapped her hand around his and squeezed. Her stuff wasn't just stuff. He got it. He got her.

And even though Kitty and Margot, Chris and Doctor Covey already knew Lara Jean was messy, for Peter the discovery drew them closer.

But, when Lara Jean told Peter stuff, stuff no one else knew he realised and it was so much better. When Lara Jean shared that she'd never told anyone else how for a second she forgot that there was a time their family wasn't just her sisters and her Dad, it was like she was weaving silken threads around them both, strengthening their invisible bond.

And, then. Then, eventually, Peter got to learn things about Lara Jean that no-one else knew, even Lara Jean. And he knew that know one else knew. Because that stuff - Peter knew Lara Jean had never done with anyone else, never felt with anyone else. And he totally began to understood Lara Jean's whole idealistic obsession with firsts.

Like, they never seemed to get time together, just them. They drove around together a lot. Lara Jean was a constant welcome presence in Peter's passenger seat. But it was usually to get somewhere - purposeful - and they'd share kisses and words and smiles but they were always limited.

And they were also so god damned busy. Peter had lacrosse and school and Owen and his Mom and Linden White. Lara Jean had academics, and her family and Belleview and baking and scrapbooking.

So, after school when lacrosse practice was cancelled because of threatening storms, Lara Jean and Peter escaped the lightening and hail and found themselves home alone at the Covey's.

"When will Kitty be home?" Peter asked, scoffing down a giant piece of triple layered Black Forest cake using his hands. Lara Jean sat on the kitchen island bench with Peter standing. His hip pressed against the side of her thigh, their heights evened up by the position.

Demurely, Lara Jean broke up her slice of cake with a tiny fork, letting the chocolate cream and cherries dissolve before another scoopful. Peter would've laughed at their differences if he wasn't so turned on by her careful deliberate action.

"She's away at camp." Lara Jean reminded him, "Dad has night shift. Trina will check up on me after work but," Lara Jean glanced at the clock on the wall, "But she won't be back for hours..."

Peter heard the suggestive tone that Lara Jean rarely used, and scanned her open face but stayed still. Instead, he brushed away a stray cake crumb dotted on the corner of her lip. Lara Jean's tongue snaked out and tasted his thumb, propelling Peter into action. Hauling her off the counter top, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he dumped her unceremoniously onto the couch in the Covey's TV room. Settling himself on top of her, one leg between her thigh and the other on the other side he held his weight off her while he kissed her, slowly and deliberately. She tasted like cake and jam and of Lara Jean.

Everything was so rushed between them usually and if right then, right that second, he got given three wishes, all three of them would have been for time. That's all he wanted, time for him and Lara Jean. Time for them.

And kissing Lara Jean was a revelation. She obviously wasn't the only girl he'd kissed but it meant so much because of what it meant for Lara Jean. Peter got lost in their dreamy kisses and his hands started wandering. With the storm wailing, and the rain pelting on the roof, the heat between them provided a delicious contrast.

Peter's fingertips traced the skin of Lara Jean's abdomen and slipped below the lacy material of her bra. This was usually the point when Lara Jean would stop breathing heavy and stay still and Peter knew immediately to stop. Reading Lara Jean's body, reading her reactions, being attuned to her, they were his responsibilities.

But this time, Lara Jean met Peter's glazed over expression with her own. Against the whistling wind, Lara Jean whispered, "More, stay, keep going."

And he would have, except, in a way that parents seemed to know when their kids were up to no good, Miss Rothschild burst through the front door, shaking her umbrella, shouting "Lara Jean, your dad wanted me to check on you. These storms are kind of scary, huh?'

Peter and Lara Jean repelled into a sitting position, slightly apart. But, Peter knew that Miss Rothschild knew what had been going on. She didn't say anything though.

And despite their interruption, in that moment, Peter knew he was the first person, the only person who'd knew what desire looked like in Lara Jean's eyes. He knew the shade of red wanting someone looked like on the apples of her cheeks. And he knew how swollen her lips became when being kissed for hours. And he didn't have to share that part of knowing Lara Jean with anyone.


End file.
